


Of Silverware and Lies

by llyrical



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Blood Drinking, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Vampires, because he is cute and insecure, cecil is scared of carlos knowing he's a vampire, in which cecil owns no silverware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2068893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyrical/pseuds/llyrical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cecil, why don't you own any silverware?” </p>
<p>In which Cecil is very bad at hiding he's a vampire and Carlos is very oblivious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Silverware and Lies

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the entirety of this fic while watching Sharknado. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! Kudos and feedback, positive or negative, are welcome!

At first, Carlos thought nothing of the fact that Cecil was never available during the day. 

It didn't seem weird to him that the radio host's phone always seemed to be turned off during the daylight hours. Cecil was a busy person; he had a lot of work and research to do and put together before broadcasting each night. And Carlos himself was often distracted by the many out-of-the-ordinary-but-slowly-becoming-ordinary-by-Night-Vale-standards cases, so he had little time to worry about his boyfriend's schedule. 

It was only after many two-in-the-morning trips to the Moonlite All-Nite Diner, late mandatory visits to Big Rico's Pizza, and phone calls in the dead of the night that Carlos figured they shake things up. This is why he called Cecil one night after his show and asked if he wanted to grab breakfast at Denny's in the morning, since the restaurant was having their annual special that made it far more likely for its patrons to get out alive (unlike all the other days of the year, in which its survival rates were extremely lower than the national average). 

Carlos could hear Cecil's breath catch a bit over the phone, and he furrowed his brows in confusion. “U-um,” Cecil stuttered, odd for him. “I'd love to, Carlos, I really would, but I have to report to City Council in the morning for reeducation.” 

“Again?” Carlos asked. “Didn't you just have to be reeducated a few weeks ago?” 

Cecil chuckled nervously. “Oh, you know that City Council. Every time someone acknowledges the moon or speaks out against the inner-dear realtors, somebody has to be reeducated. They're just doing their job to make sure our city knows what is true and what is _public information_.” 

Carlos leaned against his bed, biting down on his lower lip and paying close attention to Cecil's staggered breathing. “Cecil, are you sure? If you just don't want to go out, that's-” 

“No, Carlos, of course I do!” Cecil interrupted in a panicked tone. “I want to spend as much time with you as possible, my beautiful Carlos, but I can't. Another time, okay? I promise.” 

Carlos sighed, and let it go. “Yeah, Cecil,” he said, smiling weakly. “Another time.” 

This was the first incident. 

 

The second incident occurred weeks later, when Carlos had just finished a lovely dinner of wheat-and-wheat-by-products-free spaghetti at Cecil's apartment. 

“Cecil, why don't you own any silverware?” Carlos asked as he did the dishes, setting the now-washed plate down on the drying rack near the sink. 

He had noticed this the first time he had dined at Cecil's apartment and found that the radio host owned only cheap plastic utensils, but had never brought it up because it had never bothered him. He figured Cecil had some quirk and just didn't like real silverware (it certainly wouldn't be odd for the radio host), so he never questioned it. But in the past few months, after the incident with plastic spoons melting into a pot of stewed tomatoes and melted cheese lumps at Big Rico's, the big-name utensil company had to shut down (or, as was speculated by many attentive Night Vale citizens, its owners had been corporally unable to run it anymore). Subsequently, Cecil had been forced to buy less and less quality plasticware. When Carlos' plastic fork broke while he was just trying to cut SPAGHETTI, he knew there was a problem. 

“Huh?” Cecil glanced up from where he was sorting through papers for the next night's show. 

“Your silverware? Or lack, thereof?” Carlos asked, holding up a piece of his aforementioned broken fork. 

“Oh, that,” Cecil said with a wave of his hand, looking back to his paperwork, perhaps TOO quickly, “You know how much I hate doing dishes.” 

This didn't make much sense to Carlos, and he was a scientist, so _most_ things should make sense. Cecil owned all other form of dishes, so there were plenty that he would have to wash anyway. Plus, he owned a dishwasher! Why was he so opposed to regular silverware? 

But Cecil was hardly considered “normal,” even by Night Vale standards, so Carlos really couldn't think much of it. 

Instead, in a move that was half of scientific interest and half of Carlos' desire to be a good boyfriend, he bought Cecil a silverware set and brought it over on his next dinner date. 

Cecil's eyes lit up as he opened the door for Carlos and spotted the red gift bag. “Is that for me?” he asked giddily, like a child on Christmas (if Christmas was the same here in Night Vale). 

Cecil, ever the polite host, ushered Carlos inside and to the dinner table before ripping the tissue paper away and pulling out the plastic-encased silverware. He face fell for a fraction of a second. Then he smiled at Carlos, though it didn't meet his eyes. “You got me silverware? Oh, my Carlos, so thoughtful.” Cecil leaned down enough to give him a peck on the lips. “Here, I'll just go put this away, and we can have dinner-” 

“No, why don't we use the new silverware right now?” Carlos interjected with a forced smile. He knew there was something up. 

“O-oh, sure,” Cecil said, setting the package down and leaving Carlos to open it as the radio host dished up dinner, which was a stew of some sorts. 

Cecil set the bowls down on the table and wearily eyed the silver spoon set near his spot. “If you'll excuse me for just a moment, dear Carlos, I'm going to run to the restroom.” 

Carlos sat tapping his foot, breathing in the delicious scent of whatever kind of stew it was Cecil made, and impatiently wanting him to get back so he could eat. It felt rude to start without Cecil, but he was taking forever. He had said he would be gone just a moment, right? 

After what seemed like forever, Cecil came back, looking even paler than usual, and staggering. “Cecil, are you okay?” Carlos asked, jumping up and rushing to steady him. 

“I am so sorry, my dear Carlos, but I'm afraid that I'm not going to be able to enjoy dinner with you tonight. This sickness came on so suddenly...” Cecil seemed to be feeling warm, though no sweat broke through his pale brow, and when Carlos put his hand to the man's forehead, it was still as cold as always. 

“What is it, Cecil? Would you like me to run some tests? Would you like me to get you medicine?” 

Cecil smiled weakly. “Oh, Carlos, I'm sure it's just a standard-issue sickness distributed by the vague-yet-menacing government agency as a reminder of our own mortality. It's been a while since I've had one, and I sure am due.” 

Carlos frowned, looking him up and down. “Alright then, Cecil. Let's get you into bed-” 

“No!” Cecil said, and his own eyes widened at his tone of volume of voice. “I mean, no, thank you, my beautiful Carlos. I wouldn't want you to catch this and be unable to perform science. I can take care of myself and this is sure to blow over within the next day or so. You just get yourself home safely and don't worry about me.” Before he was even done speaking, he had already ushered Carlos over to the door and was practically pushing him out. 

It wasn't until Carlos was halfway home that he remembered that government-issued diseases weren't contagious. 

 

Cecil recovers remarkably fast, even for a government-mandated sickness. He seems perfectly fine and doesn't even mention the incident on his show the next night. He stays the night at Carlos' apartment and they cuddle and watch _The Twilight Zone_. When Carlos asks how he's feeling, Cecil initially doesn't seem to know what he's talking about, then quickly corrects himself and says that fever worked its way through him relatively quickly. While this is odd, it's not problematic enough that Carlos will interrupt his warm cuddle cocoon to argue about it. 

The problem comes when Cecil gets sick again. 

At first Carlos thinks that Cecil is just despairing over his previous intern Dana, who has made it out of the Dog Park, out of the House that Doesn't Exist, and out into the vast and seemingly unending desert. Cecil hadn't had a new intern in weeks, as the few that came after Dana seemed to die at even faster rates than usual, and nobody was eager to sign up for the position. He called Carlos one night and told him he was feeling under the weather again and might not be able to go out for a while, but Carlos suspected it was just the loss of his intern, so he didn't press. So when Cecil first started returning home immediately after his show and not returning any of Carlos' voicemails inquiring about dates, Carlos passed it off as mourning the inevitable loss of Dana. 

However, when this “mourning” lasted more than a few days, Carlos knew he was mistaken. Cecil was more well-acquainted with death, especially that of interns, than anyone Carlos knew. Though Cecil was always closer with Dana than any of the other short-lasting interns, losing her should in no way make him bedridden. 

Carlos' paranoid side poked at his brain, telling him that maybe Cecil wanted to break up with him but didn't want to do it in person. Or maybe avoiding the person and not returning their calls was the custom of breaking up with someone in Night Vale, and Carlos just wasn't aware of it yet. 

_You're being stupid_ , Carlos told himself. And a scientist is never stupid, so that was a low blow. 

Nonetheless, Carlos waited until an hour after Cecil's show ended and drove himself over to the other's apartment. He was already nervous, as Cecil had sounded on-edge and irritated during the broadcast. Was he truly just breaking up with Carlos, or was something horribly wrong? Carlos knocked and Cecil didn't answer, so he used his own key and let himself in. He hoped that Cecil was home and that he wasn't accidentally breaking and entering. 

All of the lights were off in Cecil's apartment. Nothing was stirring, not even the unidentifiable mass under the sink that often lurked out in the dead of the night. Carlos didn't realize he was tip-toeing until a floorboard creaked eerily under his foot and he realized his body language would look awfully suspicious, as if he actually _was_ breaking and entering. He straightened his back and took a deep breath, flicking on the nearest light and flinching as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. 

Carlos wasn't sure exactly what he was expecting; maybe some overturned chairs, or as least some evidence of sickness, like medicine on the counter, or _something_. But there was nothing. Cecil's apartment was perfectly clean, perhaps more so than usual, and nothing seemed to have changed since the last time Carlos had been there, now over a week ago. 

“Cecil?” he called out. Better to inform the radio host he was there. No reply came. Perhaps Cecil really wasn't home?

He continued his trek through his boyfriend's (ex-boyfriend's?) home, finally making his way to the bedroom. The door was shut, and opened with an eery, horror-movie-like creak when Carlos pushed at it. Once again, the lights were out. “Cecil?” Carlos asked quietly, and a groan came from within the darkness. Carlos' hand flew to the light switch. 

Cecil was sitting on the bed, his back against the door. He had his white sheets wrapped around him, though, so this wasn't completely apparent at first. “My god, Cecil, are you okay?” Carlos exclaimed, rushing in. He hadn't taken more than two steps when the groaning started again, stopping him in his tracks just by the pure agony in it. 

“Carlos,” Cecil rasped out in a scratchy voice. “Don't come any closer. Stay back there.” 

“Why, Cecil, what's wrong?” The scientist's eyebrows furrowed and he instinctively reached a hand out towards Cecil, though he was still feet away. 

Cecil made a whimpering noise, and it broke Carlos' heart to hear Cecil like this- to hear the Voice of Night Vale reduced down into a quivering mess. “Carlos, please just go,” Cecil whispered, barely audible. 

Carlos broke out of his trance and rushed over, grabbing Cecil's shoulder and pulling him around to face him. When Cecil met his eyes, however, he gasped and stumbled backwards. 

Cecil's eyes were a shining red, a drastic change from their usual calm purple. Now they seemed to be shifting colors behind the pupil, as if you could _see_ the blood flowing. His mouth was open in a gasp and he had two large incisors where his normal canines should be. 

As much as Carlos was shocked, he wasn't, really. He should have seen this coming, and in a way, he did. The late-night dates, the lack of silverware. The fact that Cecil was always pale, and always cold, even in this hot desert community. Vampirism certainly wasn't the weirdest thing about Cecil; now, lycanthropy... _that_ might have been a different story. 

Cecil slapped a hand over his mouth in a delayed reaction. “Carlos, I can explain,” he mumbled through his fingers, sounding despaired. 

Carlos took a step towards the bed and Cecil flinched like a wounded animal, crawling back a few feet. “Hey, it's okay,” Carlos said softly, taking slow steps towards him. Cecil whimpered and shook his head quickly, trying to move back more and panicking when his back reached the headboard. 

“Carlos, you can't come near me,” Cecil insisted, and Carlos could see the panic in his red eyes. 

“Cecil, Cecil, it's okay, seriously,” Carlos murmured, crawling onto the edge of the bed. Cecil looked like he was going to cry or spontaneously combust. 

“Carlos, you can't get any closer, it's not safe,” Cecil said, but his tone had lost some of its urgency. Instead, his eyes were getting a sort of... _animalistic_ glow. His hand fell away from his mouth, and his fangs glistened. Carlos could see the human in him slipping away. 

That was when Carlos realized what was wrong. Cecil was _hungry_. Hungry... for blood? Carlos was surprised at how quickly he accepted that and didn't have to question it. But this was Cecil. Carlos couldn't find anything wrong with him, no matter what kind of being he was (supernatural or otherwise). 

“Cecil, when was the last time you... fed?” Carlos inwardly cringed at how awkward it sounded coming out of his mouth. 

Cecil's eyes widened a bit, and Carlos didn't miss how they quickly flicked down towards the scientist's neck, completely on display by his lack of lab coat and the buttons undone at the top of his dress shirt. 

“I... maybe a week ago? Ten days, perhaps?” Cecil sounded weaker than ever and Carlos could tell his resolve was deteriorating. 

“And how often are you _supposed_ to feed?” Carlos slowly inched forward, as if approaching a scared deer (the realtor-free kind). He stuck his hand out and brushed Cecil's cheek with the back of it, and Cecil's breath hitched dramatically and his eyes never left Carlos' hand. 

“Every day. Every other day, depending on how much I get,” Cecil licked his lips, and Carlos sighed and moved closer. 

“Go ahead, Cecil. Bite me.” The scientist pulled his shirt farther to the side, and Cecil lunged forward. 

Carlos heard himself scream, and then there was darkness. 

 

“So... is it always like that?” Carlos asked, rubbing his neck. If not for the sensitivity, there wouldn't even be any evidence left of the needle-thin pinpricks. “I'm asking for science, of course.” 

Cecil chuckled and pulled Carlos closer to him. They were cuddling in Cecil's bed as if nothing had happened. Cecil was back to normal, but Carlos wouldn't forget the look in his eyes as the radio host saw the opportunity for blood. “No, my sweet, sweet Carlos, it's not. The first time is always the worst. After that, the thralling effect begins to take over. Your mind essentially shuts off and lets me take over during feeding.” 

Thralling effect? Thralls were normally considered slaves, held by mind control. “Well, I don't know if I really want to be your slave, but if it's only during feeding, then that's okay...” Carlos trailed off, wondering if he'd be able to get Cecil into the lab so that he could perform some more thorough tests on him and his vampirism... 

“What?” Cecil sat up, startling Carlos. “Carlos, what just happened, that can't... that _won't_ happen again. I can't take advantage of you like that.” 

“Hey,” Carlos said, rolling on top of Cecil. He tried to ignore the compromising position, as he knew this was the only way he could get Cecil to listen to him without turning away. “You're not taking advantage of me. I _let_ you do it. I hated seeing you like that. Why did you go so long without feeding, anyway?” 

Cecil's face blushed pink, warm from embarrassment and the fresh blood he just consumed. His skin was much warmer than it usually was, too. “I usually feed off of the interns,” Cecil said off-handedly, with a small smile. 

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Is that how they...?” 

Cecil tilted his head, confused. “How they what? ...Oh! No, Carlos, of course not! I don't kill them! No, they all die by natural causes. Well... as natural as the curse of the station can be considered.” 

“So you haven't fed because you haven't had an intern?” 

“Essentially, yes.” 

“So your entire station knows about... this?” 

“Most of the town knows about this, actually,” Cecil said sheepishly. “Vampires aren't exactly uncommon, if you know where to look. I took extra precautions after the first time I spotted you in order to make sure you never found out.” 

“But why wouldn't you want me to know, Cecil?” As much as Carlos wanted to remain neutral and ask questions only for the purpose of furthering his scientific research, he couldn't help feeling hurt by his boyfriend's lack of trust. 

Cecil brought a now-warm hand up to run through Carlos' hair, and the scientist leaned into the touch. Oh, how he had missed this. “It wasn't that I didn't want you to know, my dear Carlos,” he said, sadly, “I wanted nothing more than to tell you. But I hadn't yet known how you would react. I was too afraid that you would think of me as a monster.” 

It was odd, hearing Cecil admit that he was afraid of something. As the Voice of Night Vale, Cecil was more accustomed to the weird and creepy things than anyone. Cecil had no reason to be afraid of anything. Yet the one thing he was afraid of was losing Carlos. 

In a moment of passion, Carlos surged down and kissed his boyfriend. He told himself he was just imagining the slight coppery aftertaste on Cecil's lips, praying that he wasn't _actually_ tasting his own blood. 

“I would never think of you as a monster,” Carlos whispered against Cecil's lips, “I love you.” 

Cecil's eyes, now back to their normal violet, lit up. “I love you, too, my beautiful Carlos.” 

“And I want you to feed from me again. I want to be the one you share this connection with.” Carlos felt Cecil's hand in his hair go still. 

“But Carlos, it's dangerous,” the radio personality whispered, “I could kill you.” 

“You won't,” Carlos said with a smile. “You won't.”

 

Carlos adapted to his boyfriend's undead state surprisingly quickly. Though he couldn't become completely nocturnal, as many scientific experiments required daylight hours, he tried to adapt to Cecil's schedule as much as possible. They quickly moved in together, as Cecil no longer had anything to hide and therefore had no oppositions to spending more and more time with his scientist boyfriend. 

Carlos _did_ have to buy more vitamins and blood-replenishment supplements, but hey, that was normal in Night Vale (according to Cecil). The blood-drinking became a normal part of their daily routine, and Carlos grew to enjoy the closeness and intimacy that occurred as a result. Cecil was right; it never hurt as bad after the first time. Instead, it felt like a small needle prick, then warmth and darkness. Carlos only had a vague memory of it afterwards. 

After a stressful week at both the radio station and the lab, Carlos suggested they have a movie night in their new house. Cecil was all too happy about the idea, and started brainstorming snacks he could make (when Carlos inquired about Cecil's dietary habits, the radio host revealed that while he didn't necessary _need_ to eat regular food, it kept him in touch with his human side and plus, he just likes getting to eat with Carlos). Carlos let Cecil go home and start making up snacks while he stopped at the Redbox outside the Ralph's on his way home. 

After his first few dollars produced only large, poisonous spiders from the movie retrieval area, Carlos was happy and relieved to finally get his movies. He was also glad that the Redbox regularly stocked movies based on the current patron's thought process, and therefore always had what you were looking for. 

Cecil practically pounced on him the second he walked through their front door, eager to see what movies he had brought. Cecil gave him a look of 'Really?' when he saw that Carlos had brought _The Lost Boys, Nosferatu_ , and _Bram Stoker's Dracula_. Carlos just smiled smugly, and Cecil flashed his fangs. 

(Later, while watching _Nosferatu_ , Carlos got tired of having to read the silent movie's subtitles, and laid his head down on Cecil's lap. Cecil stroked the scientist's hair and read the words to him in his relaxed radio voice until he drifted off to sleep.)


End file.
